I am currently delving more deeply into the work of Ibn ʿArabi under the guidance of Dr. Ali Hussain. You can find his amazing work at https://substack.com/@studiofmeaning)
One of the things we explored recently is Ibn ʿArabi’s attention to etymology - to the way the roots of words can open unexpected doors into meaning.
There is something remarkable hidden in the Arabic language.
Take for instance The hidden wisdom in the Arabic root ش ج ر
The word شَجَر (shajar) means trees.
Yet from the same root comes شَجَرَ (shajara): to dispute, conflict, becoming entangled.
At first, these meanings seem worlds apart.
But look at the branches of a tree. They grow outward, crossing one another, weaving together, sometimes becoming so intertwined that it becomes difficult to tell where one begins and another ends.
And suddenly, the relationship between the two meanings becomes visible.
One of the things we explored recently is Ibn ʿArabi’s attention to etymology - to the way the roots of words can open unexpected doors into meaning.
There is something remarkable hidden in the Arabic language.
Take for instance The hidden wisdom in the Arabic root ش ج ر
The word شَجَر (shajar) means trees.
Yet from the same root comes شَجَرَ (shajara): to dispute, conflict, becoming entangled.
At first, these meanings seem worlds apart.
But look at the branches of a tree. They grow outward, crossing one another, weaving together, sometimes becoming so intertwined that it becomes difficult to tell where one begins and another ends.
And suddenly, the relationship between the two meanings becomes visible.
When our branches become entangled
The Qur’an uses this root in a striking verse:
فَلَا وَرَبِّكَ لَا يُؤْمِنُونَ حَتَّىٰ يُحَكِّمُوكَ فِيمَا شَجَرَ بَيْنَهُمْ ثُمَّ لَا يَجِدُوا فِي أَنفُسِهِمْ حَرَجًا مِّمَّا قَضَيْتَ وَيُسَلِّمُوا تَسْلِيمًا
“But no, by your Lord, they will not truly believe until they make you judge concerning that over which they dispute among themselves, then find within themselves no resistance to what you have decided, and submit in full surrender.” (Qur’an 4:65)
The phrase: “ that over which they dispute among themselves” شَجَرَ بَيْنَهُمْ — literally means: What has become entangled between them.
It is such an evocative image of conflict.
It is such an evocative image of conflict.
Isn’t this what happens when when we disagree? What begins as a disagreement quickly gets tangled up with our fears, our histories, what we want, what we think we deserve, and sometimes wounds that have very little to do with the argument in front of us. Eventually, we can’t even tell which branch belongs to what anymore.
We can no longer see clearly.
But why do branches become entangled?
This is where the image of the tree becomes even more interesting.
A tree does not send its branches outward randomly. Every branch is reaching toward a source of nourishment: Light.
Branches may cross. They may twist around one another. They may appear to compete for space. Yet ultimately, they are responding to the same call of the sun.
Perhaps we are not so different. We, too, stretch toward what we believe will sustain us:
Safety.
Love.
Belonging.
Recognition.
Control.
Dignity.
Power.
And perhaps many of our conflicts arise not simply because we want different things, but because we have attached our survival, identity, or worth to something we believe we must obtain or protect.
Our conflicts can therefore reveal something important about us.
They reveal what we believe will sustain us.
The question becomes: Toward what light am I growing?
From entanglement to constriction
But the verse does not stop with the conflict - شَجَرَ.
It moves from the conflict between people to something happening within them: Resistance حَرَج Ḥaraj
Ḥaraj carries the sense of resistance, tightness, constriction, difficulty, distress.
The entanglement outside is mirrored by a constriction inside.
I find this movement in the verse fascinating.
There is the tangled forest of competing branches between us, and then there is the tightening of the heart within us.
Anyone who has been caught in a painful conflict probably knows this feeling in the body. The argument may be happening across a table, in a meeting, inside a family, or even entirely inside our own imagination. Yet somehow the body knows:
The chest tightens.
The jaw clenches.
The stomach contracts.
The breath becomes shallow.
The outer entanglement شجر has become inner tightness حرج.
Untangling the branches
The verse then offers another movement.
The Prophet ﷺ is called upon to judge what has become entangled.
I don’t read this image simply as someone deciding which branch is right and which is wrong. There is something deeper here.
The tangled branches need to be reoriented.
Because when we mistake a particular branch - our position, our desire, our need to win, our fear of losing - for the source of life itself, we cling to it.
And the tighter we cling, the tighter the heart becomes.
The opposite of conflict, then, is not necessarily passive agreement. It is not pretending differences do not exist.
It is the disappearance of this resistance, this tightness - ḥaraj, that inner constriction that prevents us from surrendering our particular branch to something larger than ourselves.
The verse ends not merely with a resolution of the dispute, but with peaceful surrender وَيُسَلِّمُوا تَسْلِيمًا.
The branches have remembered the Light toward which they need to grow.
Perhaps this is one of the invitations hidden in conflict: When I feel myself becoming tangled with another person, when my heart begins to constrict around my position, I can ask:
What am I protecting so fiercely here?
What do I believe I cannot live without?
And toward what light am I actually growing?
The Qur’an uses this root in a striking verse:
فَلَا وَرَبِّكَ لَا يُؤْمِنُونَ حَتَّىٰ يُحَكِّمُوكَ فِيمَا شَجَرَ بَيْنَهُمْ ثُمَّ لَا يَجِدُوا فِي أَنفُسِهِمْ حَرَجًا مِّمَّا قَضَيْتَ وَيُسَلِّمُوا تَسْلِيمًا
“But no, by your Lord, they will not truly believe until they make you judge concerning that over which they dispute among themselves, then find within themselves no resistance to what you have decided, and submit in full surrender.” (Qur’an 4:65)
The phrase: “ that over which they dispute among themselves” شَجَرَ بَيْنَهُمْ — literally means: What has become entangled between them.
It is such an evocative image of conflict.
It is such an evocative image of conflict.
Isn’t this what happens when when we disagree? What begins as a disagreement quickly gets tangled up with our fears, our histories, what we want, what we think we deserve, and sometimes wounds that have very little to do with the argument in front of us. Eventually, we can’t even tell which branch belongs to what anymore.
We can no longer see clearly.
But why do branches become entangled?
This is where the image of the tree becomes even more interesting.
A tree does not send its branches outward randomly. Every branch is reaching toward a source of nourishment: Light.
Branches may cross. They may twist around one another. They may appear to compete for space. Yet ultimately, they are responding to the same call of the sun.
Perhaps we are not so different. We, too, stretch toward what we believe will sustain us:
Safety.
Love.
Belonging.
Recognition.
Control.
Dignity.
Power.
And perhaps many of our conflicts arise not simply because we want different things, but because we have attached our survival, identity, or worth to something we believe we must obtain or protect.
Our conflicts can therefore reveal something important about us.
They reveal what we believe will sustain us.
The question becomes: Toward what light am I growing?
From entanglement to constriction
But the verse does not stop with the conflict - شَجَرَ.
It moves from the conflict between people to something happening within them: Resistance حَرَج Ḥaraj
Ḥaraj carries the sense of resistance, tightness, constriction, difficulty, distress.
The entanglement outside is mirrored by a constriction inside.
I find this movement in the verse fascinating.
There is the tangled forest of competing branches between us, and then there is the tightening of the heart within us.
Anyone who has been caught in a painful conflict probably knows this feeling in the body. The argument may be happening across a table, in a meeting, inside a family, or even entirely inside our own imagination. Yet somehow the body knows:
The chest tightens.
The jaw clenches.
The stomach contracts.
The breath becomes shallow.
The outer entanglement شجر has become inner tightness حرج.
Untangling the branches
The verse then offers another movement.
The Prophet ﷺ is called upon to judge what has become entangled.
I don’t read this image simply as someone deciding which branch is right and which is wrong. There is something deeper here.
The tangled branches need to be reoriented.
Because when we mistake a particular branch - our position, our desire, our need to win, our fear of losing - for the source of life itself, we cling to it.
And the tighter we cling, the tighter the heart becomes.
The opposite of conflict, then, is not necessarily passive agreement. It is not pretending differences do not exist.
It is the disappearance of this resistance, this tightness - ḥaraj, that inner constriction that prevents us from surrendering our particular branch to something larger than ourselves.
The verse ends not merely with a resolution of the dispute, but with peaceful surrender وَيُسَلِّمُوا تَسْلِيمًا.
The branches have remembered the Light toward which they need to grow.
Perhaps this is one of the invitations hidden in conflict: When I feel myself becoming tangled with another person, when my heart begins to constrict around my position, I can ask:
What am I protecting so fiercely here?
What do I believe I cannot live without?
And toward what light am I actually growing?
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